


Foolish Expectations

by SigmaDelta



Category: Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Male Slash, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaDelta/pseuds/SigmaDelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late-night visitor causes Basil to voice secrets and fantasies he was trying to keep in the dark. Unluckily for him, Dorian takes full advantage of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foolish Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably do some explaining before you read. In this story, you'll find roles somewhat reversed. Not to the point of complete character change, but instead of the norm, Basil is fully aware of what Dorian has been up to, and likewise Dorian is a lot more ignorant as to what he has become. It's set the night before [SPOILER] Dorian murders Basil, giving him a motive of something more than just blame for what he became, but more for forcing him to realise it and feel regret for his actions.

"Hello? Are you home, Basil?"

The painter turned, his lips immediately turning downwards into a dark scowl.

"Get out of here, I don't want to see you right now."

Dorian sauntered over grinning, emerald coat-tails dancing behind him as he went to take a seat in the armchair.

"Now I know that's a lie." He laughed, flashing that brilliant smile. "You don't have to lie about a thing, Basil, Lord Henry told me everything."

"Lord Henry's told you a lot of things." The painter retorted, trying to remain as amiable as possible without seeming friendly, for indeed he was not Dorian's friend. "And look what good it's done you before. You used to be so charming and--"

"I can still be charming." The beautiful man insisted, arching an eyebrow. "Why, dear Basil, do you think I've lost my wit? I can be as charming as I wish... as I believe you know."

"What are you saying? I'm trying to tell you he's warped you, can’t you see that! You've become a nasty piece of work and it's all his fault!" Basil lost his temper, standing and turning away, tears pricking in his eyes.

"Nasty...? Basil, I've done you no harm, but to perhaps your pride." Dorian sighed. "Why do you pretend to hate me so?"

"Pretend!?" The older man shrieked, nails digging into his palms. He whirled around, eyes wild and stained with tears. "I'm not pretending, Dorian! You lie, sin, have no remorse or consideration for anybody else! You're ruined!"

There was a long silence as Basil strode through the hall and opened the door, gesturing to the street outside. He sighed deeply again to compose himself and looked the gorgeous young man straight in the eye.

"I apologise for not quite being so hospitable, but I must ask you to leave, Mister Gray."

Dorian, though he imagined he was expected to apologise or show some kind of regret, laughed a little and rose to wander over to the painter. Shutting the door gently, he leant against it and shot Basil a knowing look.

"Basil, I don't think you quite understand. I’ve been thinking about this, about you, for a long time and I think I’ve finally figured you out. Basil..." Dorian leant in a small way and batted his dark eyes. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"What...?" The painter breathed, stunned by his muse's sudden closeness.

"You want me, don't you, Basil?" The young man smirked and touched a pale fingertip to his elder's bottom lip.

"You--?! You have the audacity to..." Basil was near-speechless, infuriated. Turning his lip up, he quieted his voice and growled. "Perhaps... perhaps once I did. Once, I believed you were perfect. You gave my art, my life, purpose. But now..." He took a step back and shook his head. "You're nothing to me now."

Dorian watched him as he backed off, his beautiful smile falling a little.

"Oh, that's a shame..." He murmured. Basil frowned.

"Why?"

"I was expecting you would consent to this." He shrugged as he leant in, grabbing the painter's collar and tugging him into a kiss. Basil froze up, his arms snapping to his sides as Dorian's tongue grazed his lips. When he refused to part them, the gorgeous young man pulled back. "Come on, Basil, don't let this pass you by! This could be your greatest inspiration! I could give you everything I used to and more!"

"And all you want in return is me as your plaything, the same as all those young women you 'loved' for a few hours then discarded like a soiled handkerchief? The same as Sybil?" Basil retorted, unable to raise his voice. Dorian paused at that, words failing him until he kissed the older man again, this time pinching the tender flesh of the painter's inner arm until Basil's lips parted and he was able to thrust his tongue inside. Suddenly the older man decided to struggle against him, trying to speak and inadvertently giving him a writhing tongue to entwine his own with.

"No!" Basil threw the young man off him and backed well away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Dorian, this is wrong. I can't do this - I don't want to do this!"

"You're a very poor liar, dear Basil." The other smiled, slinking out of his coat and hanging it on the doorknob. "What wonders it would do for your art if you could experience me at my finest."

"Your finest died months ago." Basil spat, still backing away as Dorian drew closer. "You don't care for me, you don't care for anyone but yourself! You're playing with my emotions to trick me into this purely for your own experimentation."

"Why should you care that I am?" Dorian stripped himself of his tie and threw it aside, quickly advancing. "It will do you more good than it does me. A man who dedicates himself to art the way you do; you said so yourself, you’ve never tasted a woman!" He laughed triumphantly as he leapt upon the dais, quickly folding his shirt in his hands and tossing it to the ground. Basil's jaw fell.

"Dorian...?" He breathed. In the twilight, the young man's body was almost glowing, ghostly pale. His slender navel and chest, which sported a ghost of a layer of muscle, caught the cold starlight from one side and the warmth of the fireplace from the other, lighting him up like marble. He looked like a god, and Basil his trembling adherent.

"Changing your mind so soon, Basil?" Dorian smiled, knowing he'd won. "I thought you said you hated me."

How could I hate such a form as this! Basil thought to himself in dismay. The artist felt inspiration at his fingertips, though he was powerless to grab it, as he was powerless to do anything but let Dorian climb down from the dais and approach again.

"What do you want me to say?" Basil asked, despising his own addiction to his muse's beauty.

"The truth. I know - you know - that all this talk of morals and sin is mundane and pointless." The beautiful young man strode right up to Basil and stroked the older man's hair away from his thought-lined brow. "It matters little what we think nowadays, it's our actions that define us. And I want you to show me, with your actions, how much you want me."

"Truly Lord Henry has poisoned your mind." Basil scowled, unable to tear his eyes from the beautiful young man's sculpted body. "Polluted it with these base thoughts and desires; there was a time you wanted to be a scholar, a time you were innocent and halfway kind."

"That Dorian Gray is dead and gone." Dorian grinned as his lips drew nearer, curious to taste the older man's tongue once more. "But believe me when I say I like myself a lot more now... and I think you'll find that perhaps you do, too."

"Nonsense."

"Oh, really?" Dorian chuckled and kissed him again, pressing that perfect body against Basil's and feeling the older man resist the urge to touch it. The young man's hands strayed over the painter's face and torso, exploring it through touch and clutching Basil to him whilst doing so. When their lips parted, Dorian was still smirking. "You're not resisting me anymore, Basil. Could it be you've realised just how much you need me?"

"I..." Basil was at a loss for words, his body tingling from the mere contact with Dorian's. When he saw the young man's fingers darting to his breeches, his breath snagged in his throat.

"You want to see more of your masterpiece, don't you?" Dorian said with a knowing smile.

"Dorian please, cease your tormenting." Basil hissed, not able to look away but not daring to advance himself. "You know that if I do this I shall be as low as you, and the cycle of my failures and your sin will be complete."

"And what would this 'cycle' end with, dear Basil?" The beautiful young man queried, absently toying with the fastening of his trousers. "I've seen such a climax before, I doubt it will be so different to after I've loved one of my mistresses. You'll lie, naked and spent, beside me; you'll kiss me and thank me for allowing you to experience the most divine sensation you'll ever feel. Is that really so bad? Is it really worth losing over some half-hearted morals you use as a shield just to spite me?"

Basil thought for a long time about this, but the more he thought, the more he realised that in thinking, he was protesting against Dorian's offerings of bodily satisfaction.

"Yes. My deepest apologies go out to you, Dorian, but I cannot do this. It's... my fault you're this way, I should have ousted Lord Henry while I had the chance. I've failed you, and now you come back to me to show me just how much I've failed."

As tears welled up in the painter's eyes again, the last thing he expected to hear was Dorian laughing. A laugh as dark and beautiful as he was.

"You're an old fool, Basil." He chuckled. "I came back because I have a need, a need I could have any man satisfy but I chose you. Because though you may not think it, you're still the closest friend I have and I trust you."

Basil was about to protest that he was no longer Dorian's friend in his own eyes, but the young man wasn't finished.

"I'm also aware that, given the persuasion, you will do anything for me... That being said, if I cannot convince you," He cocked an eyebrow and pursed his full lips, "I never specified that I required consent."

With that, he lunged out and snatched Basil to him again. The two of them staggered - backwards for Basil - until they tripped over the music stool and went crashing down onto the chesterfield. The artist could do little to resist with Dorian on top of him, his own body trapped between tanned leather and soft, cool skin.

"Dorian, I implore you, don't do this." He whispered, so much resignation in his tone. Dorian looked down at him with a slightly bemused, slightly disgusted look on his face and sighed lightly.

"Your weak protests are such a bore. I think I liked it better when you weren't talking." He grinned and leant down, kissing the older man once more and untucking Basil's shirt as he did so, fingertips playing under the hem. "Now if you're not going to 'allow' me to do this, then at least cease your whining whilst I help myself." He murmured before Basil had chance to open his mouth. The stroking of Dorian's fingertips up his navel gave rise to gooseflesh on Basil's arms and neck, and a ragged breath that even he could not deny indicated arousal.

"D-Dorian, I--"

"Hush, Basil." The young man breathed, his tongue quickly following the track of his fingertips and leaving a cool, wet trail up the painter's stomach. Dorian felt the older man shiver beneath him, and a familiar, self-confident smirk spread across his face. "Until you're ready to let go of your petty ideas of philanthropy, stay quiet so I can hear you moan. Look, dear Basil, you're already aching for me." He rubbed the arousal quickly growing between Basil's legs until the artist groaned quietly.

"You... you can't force my h-hand in this." He mumbled weakly. "Release me n-now... or I'll alert the police, Dori--AAHN!!" Basil's protest warped into a high whine of pleasure as Dorian closed soft, pink lips around the older man's left nipple, circling the nub with his tongue.

"Basil, my dear, if you wanted me to stop so badly you would have thrown me out by now. I know you're not a weakling, you could easily put an end to this." The younger man chuckled, nuzzling into Basil's chest and gently tweaking the opposite nub with his thumb and fingertip. "You just don't want to, and I respect that. So I give you more, even though you don't cry out for it... yet."

"You should have killed me rather than subject me to this torment." The painter grumbled under his breath. Dorian was right, though. Despite the younger man's superior build, he could easily throw Dorian off him if he chose, but his body refused to let the beautiful man stop toying with him.

"Besides," Dorian continued, "my experience thus far has been far too stimulating to stop now. I think you'd agree if you weren't so infuriatingly pretentious."

With that, he planted another kiss on the Basil’s lips and slowly tugged off the artist's trousers, murmuring against the older man’s flesh the whole time. Shivers ran up and down Basil's spine as he was stripped down, his body visibly more than ready to be in contact with Dorian's own.

"Oh Basil, I had no idea you'd be so easy to rouse." The gorgeous young man grinned, his cheeks reddened with a healthy flush of arousal himself.

"You're a terrible liar." Basil retorted, barely able to keep an even tone to his voice as Dorian - still half clothed - took gentle grip of his arousal and gave it a few tender strokes.

"Aren't I?" Dorian laughed, transfixed by how the older man's body reacted to his touches; twitching here, reddening there. "Some things never change, do they?"

Basil couldn't believe it, the younger man talking to him as if nothing had happened, as if they were still the two friends who met at a party and were so close...

"So close to what...?" The painter mumbled under his breath, near-inaudible. Being more? His words earlier had been utterly truthful, he had wished on many an occasion before Dorian's encounter with Lord Henry that artist and muse could have been more than simply so. He'd fantasised about one young, beautiful Dorian Gray on many an occasion. But never had it been like this... it had never felt this good under his own hand. And never had he dreamt it would be this way, Dorian draped over his body and fondling him the way he was.

"Something the matter, Basil?" The younger man whispered, tracing small circles on the painter's navel, the other hand busied at Basil's throbbing arousal.

Basil thought about his answer for a moment before replying, resigning his body to the one he knew truly owned it.

"No," he sighed, "nothing at all..."

"Indeed. How can anything be awry when you feel this good?" Dorian laughed a little. "Do you see now what Lord Henry meant, dear Basil? You've wanted me for so long, and now I finally am prepared to satisfy your every desire, you've grown so accustomed to denying yourself your own feelings that you're denying yourself what you deserve. You're denying this..." He gave another few quick pumps along the length of Basil's shaft, hungrily licking the older man's lips. With a wide grin, his fingers darted back to his own breeches, unfastening them in the blink of an eye. Basil grew short of breath again.

"But you won't deny me." It wasn't a question, but Dorian answered anyway, slinking out of his trousers as he pressed his body up against Basil's.

"No, never..." He groaned, his own arousal pulsing and ready in his hand as he slowly rubbed it, glazing the painter's lips with saliva. "I could give you everything you ever wanted and more. I could take you beyond the realms of mere pleasure, drown you in bliss until the lines between fantasy and reality are blurred beyond repair, make sure you never want another man or woman ever again..." Dorian gave a slight chuckle and kissed the older man once more, brushing a weathered cheek with the back of his fingers. "...all you need do is ask."

Ask who? Basil thought silently to himself. The real Dorian Gray? Or Dorian Gray the monster; the thief, the liar and deceiver? Either way, despite all of his talk Basil could not help but help himself, at least to what he believed was his share of Dorian's beautiful body.

"Then give it to me." He breathed, the words barely audible but spreading a wide grin across the young man's lips.

"Gladly. I knew you'd see things my way." Dorian murmured as he retook his grip on Basil's body, pushing out one of the artist's knees and slithering on top of him. "I knew your protests were all empty. After all, nobody would be able to resist the temptation, the adventure. Even the holiest man alive would spread his legs and beg for me within a few minutes of persuasion, I didn't suspect you would take so long."

"Cease your preaching and gloating." Basil's expression darkened a little, a little anger sparking in him at the younger man's refusal to stop singing his own praises. "You've heard what you wanted, now finish me!"

A hint of blush rose to Dorian's cheeks and he giggled, bringing a hand to his lips in mock shock.

"Ooh, Basil! I had no idea you could be so forceful! Alright, I'll do as you say, after all I can barely contain myself as it is..." He trailed off and looked away for a moment before meeting Basil's eye again. "But you know, this could have ended so differently."

"You mean with me throwing you out into the street and calling for the police? Or submitting to you immediately and telling you you're a decent man? Both of which are, and always have been, impossible eventualities." The painter said, rather coldly.

"No, neither of those. I meant if everything had gone according to your plan." Dorian tilted his head slightly to the side and raised his eyebrows, his lips parted a small way and a lustful look in his eyes. "What would we be doing now, Basil? If everything were as you dreamed?"

Basil thought for a moment at that, still lost in thought as Dorian pressed harder against him, playing with his body as if it were little more than a toy. Then he realised, with a little shock and dismay.

"Exactly this." He voiced his revelation, looking up at the young man for the first time since they'd adopted this position. He realised, embarrassingly, that inexplicable tears were pricking his eyes. Dorian's stare wasn't cold or mocking, yet neither was it love that he felt from those dark, dark eyes. "That's the only difference, Dorian. If you were truly to give me everything I ever wanted of you, you'd love me. We would make love, but it wouldn't feel like this, so sinful and wrong. It would feel so much better, in each other's arms, knowing we could face the rest of the world as two good men, betrothed and irreconcilably amorous. Tell me you can do that, Dorian, and I'll take back everything I said before. Please, tell me you love me."

A shadow of something akin to guilt passed across Dorian Gray's features at that moment, the like of which had not affected him in months.

"I can't." He sighed, his heart suddenly heavy as lead. Truth be told, he himself couldn’t fathom his feelings toward Basil Hallward. Pure lust? He doubted it. He was vaguely aware that he’d wanted to provoke an emotional response from the older man, but he’d never imagined it would be this… passionate. What am I doing? He thought to himself in dismay. With a single comment he's succeeded in making me doubt myself... In a sudden fury of resistance against his own rising regret, Dorian thrust himself as hard as he could into Basil's body, unable to look the painter in the eye as he sheathed himself inside tight warmth, ignoring the older man's cries of pain, pleasure and protest. "No, no, NO!! I won't allow you to ruin everything now, Basil! I don't love you! I never could!" He hissed defiantly, the older man's tight, velvet walls being almost too much for him straight away. "How could I, an Adonis of a man, ever love such a desperate wretch as you?!"

He dared to look down, only to see tears streaking Basil's cheeks, the artists lips pulled into a pained ghost of a smile as he quietly moaned and wept, one sound indistinguishable from the other. Basil made no effort to reply, he'd always figured it was this way, it was just... painful. The feeling of Dorian inside him was painful, but every word against him was like a knife in his heart. What a fool he was, giving Dorian everything and receiving nothing but this in return, a painful bliss that broke him this way. Panting and heaving, he pushed his legs further apart and hoisted them onto Dorian's shoulders, allowing the young man to plough deeper and harder than before. He wanted this over, the sting of the beautiful man's words far more overbearing than the phenomenal sensation that rushed through him as it did, as Dorian stroked him and hurt him and opened his eyes to pleasure and tore out his aching heart.

A clammy hand gripped around Dorian's wrist, the one still roughly tugging on the artist's length, and kept its pace as Basil met the young man's gaze once more. His face was bright pink and drenched with tears, his lips still frozen in that distant half-smile as his other arm looped around Dorian's neck and pulled the gorgeous young man into another kiss.

"D-Dorian, please... f-finish me soon... I..."

"Don't say it, Basil, don’t you dare." Dorian warned, not slowing or even pausing to let the older man speak. The artist took a good grip on a fistful of fair hair and pulled Dorian close, still smiling, still crying.

"I love you!" Basil cried, kissing the younger man again before Dorian had a chance to speak. A tight bundle of nerves was slammed into and Basil finished over his stomach and Dorian's hand, as his toes curled and his spine arched. He was vaguely aware of a warmth filling him as the other reached his climax.

As soon as he was done, Dorian pulled out, backing away and almost tripping over the music stool again.

"Basil, no..." He snarled, refusing to believe.

"You... were right..." The older man panted, his body still twitching and wet with sweat and come. "You're a... mazing. H-how can I not... love you?"

"B-because of--" Dorian tried to explain. The sin, the portrait, everything, but no words left his mouth and Basil was long past believing anything of the sort.

"Dorian... I know I would never have a chance with you. You're right, I'm just not... good enough. Too old and too dull." The painter sat up a small way, a desperate look in his eyes. "But no matter how vile you've become... I-I can't help myself. Just... just let me pretend you love me back."

"Basil, cease spouting this nonsense!" The younger man commanded, hastily cleaning himself up, pulling on his clothes and tearing them a little in the process. "Why don't you hate me like you should?!"

"Because I'm an old fool?" Basil laughed gently, bitterly. "I have no life without you, Dorian. I have no art, and no purpose."

"You lie..." The beautiful young man croaked, trying to convince himself as much as Basil.

"You know I don't." The artist staggered to his feet, his body looking broken, weak and spent in the low light. "Dorian, I... I think it would be best if you were to leave. I have to think over a few things."

Dorian shook his head in defiance, but his charisma drained away when he gazed into Basil's tired eyes.

"Don't do this to me--"

"Please? Please, Dorian, just leave." The painter let out an exhausted sigh and approached his old friend, a sincere smile on his thin lips. "But, if you truly need something to feel as you walk home, I have to say," he strode slowly over to Dorian and pecked him on the lips, "thank you for letting me experience the most divine sensation I'll ever feel. The world will seem rather numb after tonight... and again, I thank you for that."

"Basil, I--"

"Good night, Dorian Gray." Said Basil Hallward, running a hand tenderly through the young man's hair as he walked Dorian to the door and showed him out. "Sleep well."


End file.
